


when you're not listening

by preciouseternity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bedsharing, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, basically my tearful ramblings on a tumblr prompt, called out, spoilers up through 3x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciouseternity/pseuds/preciouseternity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sleeping quarters were modest: a long, narrow bed; a desk decorated with scattered papers and spilled ink; a small, circular window; a lit candle that bathed the room in a dim orange glow. It smelled of sea water and rust. The metallic odor burned at Clarke’s nostrils, distracting her from the fact that she wasn’t alone. </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Luna misunderstands the relationship between Clarke and Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you're not listening

**Author's Note:**

> based on a post by tumblr user bell-clarke
> 
> unbeta'd - forgive any mistakes
> 
> title from Distance by Christina Perri

The sleeping quarters were modest: a long, narrow bed; a desk decorated with scattered papers and spilled ink; a small, circular window; a lit candle that bathed the room in a dim orange glow. It smelled of sea water and rust. The metallic odor burned at Clarke’s nostrils, distracting her from the fact that she wasn’t alone.

There was a fine line, Clarke had found, between being honest and being appreciative. It turned out, that Clarke’s honesty had struck Luna, who was under the impression that a romantic entanglement existed between she and Bellamy, as ungrateful complaint.

“Why would separate quarters be necessary?” Luna had questioned with eyebrows drawn together as she came upon the room in which Clarke was trying to collect herself now. “How much space do you people require?”

Clarke had shaken her head. “It’s not that. . .it’s. . .”

“Because,” Bellamy had completed gruffly, clearly uncomfortable. “We’re not –“

With a raised eyebrow and a swift wave of the hand, Luna had dismissed his words. “Lie to yourselves all you like, but lying to me will get you nowhere. Besides, this is all I have left. Space is limited here, if you cannot see.”

Clarke could see.

It reminded her of the Ark. Only so many places to go, so many corners to hide in. She’d gotten used to the forest with its infinite possibilities and directions. Always a way out, a new plan. Here, the walls were starting to close in. She felt trapped.

Though, she thought now as she finally turned to face Bellamy in the cramped space, she’d be lying if she said there was anyone she’d rather be trapped with.

He ran a hand over his drawn face, radiating discomfort into the air around them. “I’d, uh, stay with O. But. . .”

But she hated him. But he’d lost her.

The same unknowable pain that had danced in his eyes and twisted his features mere hours before on the beach returned, but he swallowed it back and fixed his eyes on some object behind Clarke.

“It’s fine,” she told him honestly. Because it was. She trusted him. She needed him. And she knew that, though he might not ever admit it in so many words, he needed her, too.

He nodded once, shortly, in acknowledgment.

It was silent as Clarke began taking off her coat and boots. They formed a heavy black pile in the corner, leaving her free and light in her undershirt and pants. It was then that she discovered how cold it was. Her arms went around herself, goose bumps raising on her exposed skin. When she looked up, Bellamy had shed his jacket, exposing a tan t-shirt worn in several places.

“You can have the bed,” he told her, looking down. She wondered why he was so afraid to see her.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

The floor of the quarters was a cold looking steel, painting different colors in different spots.

He shrugged, a tiny smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. Nodding at the metal stool by the desk, he said, “I’ll take watch.”

Clarke smiled, and breathed out an amused puff of air.  “Do you ever sleep?”

His eyes darkened. “Not lately. Do you?”

Clarke swallowed, because the answer was no. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been kept awake by the guilt that ate at her soul like an ugly parasite. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t wake up sweating, her mouth dry and throat raw.

“Didn’t think so.”

Clarke shook her head. She wished more than anything that she could carry his burden, but she couldn’t. The blood on his hands was his own to live with, just like the blood on hers. “Lay down,” she ordered.

“What?”

“You heard me. Lay down.”

“Clarke –“

“Stop arguing.” She took a step forward, and she was close enough to reach out and guide him to the bed. He hesitated, looking at her like she was crazy, before the exhaustion evident in the darkened circles beneath his eyes dropped him to the mattress.

Clarke went and blew out the candle, leaving the room in blackness. She blinked a couple times, trying to get her eyes to adjust. Too impatient and cold to let them, Clarke crossed the room blind and nearly collapsed onto Bellamy.

She pulled herself onto the bed, and laid on her side to face him. They left as much space between them as possible at first.

“Did you ever think about coming back?” His voice was low and rough, but the question was eardrum shattering in its intensity.

“Every day,” she answered after a moment. “Every moment of every day.”

“I thought about it. What I would do or say if you showed up at that gate.”

Clarke swallowed. “What would you have done?”

He was quiet for several moments. Long enough for Clarke to question if he’d fallen asleep. “It changed day to day,” he finally said. “Some days I wouldn’t let you in. Some days I wouldn’t let you go.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“I know, but I need you to know that. I didn’t want to leave you. Or any of them. I figured of all people, you’d be okay.” Clarke noticed absently that an inch of space had disappeared between them. Their knees touched, now.

“Why would you think that?”

Clarke brushed a piece of his hair from his forehead without thinking about it. She felt him stiffen, and then relax beneath her touch. “You carried me – all of us. I figured you could keep going even if I couldn’t.”

He let out a soft sound. “Maybe I’m not that strong.”

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry for telling you that you had to be.”

He shook his head and drew her closer until the lines of their bodies matched and their foreheads pressed together. Clarke breathed him in, astounded that she was here like this with him. Astounded at the way her heart was leaping out of control in her chest.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, his eyelashes brushing hers as he opened his eyes to look at her.

“Sleep, then.” Her thumb brushed over his cheek, feeling the ridges of his injuries there.

“Not like that.”

“I know,” she acknowledged. “One day, it’ll be over. Maybe then we can find happiness.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

It was quiet for a moment. Just the sound of their breathing filling the room. She watched as he began to drift. The rise and fall of his chest began to even out, his lips parted just slightly. He looked so young and at peace. She wondered if he’d ever look that way awake.

“I missed you,” he whispered just before he drifted completely.

Clarke waited until she knew he was really asleep before she brushed soft fingertips over his features. They’d been through so much. So many arguments, decisions, life-threatening situations. He’d been angry with her for leaving, and yet still tried to rescue her from Roan. She’d sent him off to possible death in Mount Weather because she’d thought love was weakness. She’d stayed in Polis even as he begged her to come home. It had broken her as much as it had broken him.

Now, as she laid beside him, feeling him breathe against her, she couldn’t imagine ever being apart from him. She needed him. It was the quintessential truth that she’d buried deep. There was no one on this planet that understood her quite like he did. There was no one on this planet that she trusted like she trusted him. Leading, she had discovered, was only truly possible with him by her side.   

“I won’t leave you again,” she whispered, so low that her voice barely made a sound in the silent room. “I love you, Bellamy. I love you. Someday, I’ll tell you. One day when. . .” she trailed off. There was no way to know when. Or _if_.

She kissed his cheek softly, a tear slipping down onto his cheek, and tucked her head down against his chest. She fell into a bloodless sleep, clutching onto him in the same way he was clutching onto her: like, if they were to be separated, they might drown.    

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I basically wrote this in a sleep deprived stupor, and cried the whole damn time.


End file.
